


Vibes

by fizzy_absinthe



Category: Good Game - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Substance Abuse, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzy_absinthe/pseuds/fizzy_absinthe
Summary: Here is where I will post all my Rylex one-shots. I take prompts over on my tumblr. Pay attention to the tags, these will vary a lot! If I don't get any prompts, I do have some ideas :3Chapter Four: Alex is drunk and depressed. Ryland tries to help him feel better.





	1. Breakfast Mishap

Alex is not usually up this early.

Today is a special occasion, only because Alex didn’t even go to bed that night and he’s awake to see the sunrise. He got home from the bar, dropped off by a mutual lost soul who was sober enough to drive, and he was so restless after a night of drinking and bittersweet karaoke that even after getting into bed, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed.

He had spent most of the night tidying up the place while letting his mind wander as he inched closer to sobriety. As he picked up old energy drink cans and glass beer bottles, he tried to keep from thinking about where he ought to be now. Living the rock star life he’d been dreaming of since he was a kid, playing music for a living. But instead he was here, perpetually drunk or stoned, without anything to show for his life.  
Ryland is the only reason he stays. Ryland isn’t the best company, at least to most people. He’s grouchy more often than not, and he never wants to go out and do things. Alex wants to go out. He wants to explore, he wants to see things. He wants to experience things. Ryland never accepts the invitation to come along when Alex wants to aimlessly wander their suburb, always choosing to stay behind in the world he made for himself in this little apartment.

But it’s not all bad. When Alex stumbles home, barely able to function and only arriving home because the bar had to close at three in the morning, Ryland is usually waiting up for him. He’ll scoff and fuss about how Alex can’t even take two steps without falling over into a heap of drunken giggles, but he’ll still help him up. When Alex has to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night to puke all the poison up, Ryland comes in, bleary-eyed, swearing under his breath about the time, but he’ll kneel next to Alex and hold his hair back, he’ll rub Alex’s back in soft circles, murmuring platitudes and half-heard stock statements. It’s alright, Alex. Better out than in, Alex. Drink some water, Alex. Here, lean against me, Alex.

Considering that Ryland had not been waiting up for him last night, it’s a good thing Alex wasn’t too far gone this time. He knows his limits, he knows exactly where the line is, between “drunk and having fun” and “totally wasted”. He just crosses it, brazenly, deliberately, because he’d rather get too fucked up and be physically miserable than sober too soon in the night. That’s when regrets crop up, while he’s walking home in the darkness, thinking about what could of been.

As he’s slowly washing dishes, he thinks of Ryland, who’s done more for him than he’ll ever know. He can’t thank him enough, for giving him a couch to crash on, food to eat, a reason to live. Having Ryland participate in this esports thing is more of a miracle than Ryland himself can appreciate, and Alex hopes that some day he can show his friend how much it means to him that Ryland would humor him once in a while.

Ryland is by no means an early riser, but with the Killcore thing going on the both of them have started getting used to being up before noon. With the hour creeping slowly to nine, Alex makes a snap decision to make breakfast. Ryland usually skips it, probably because Alex is still passed out cold when breakfast time rolls around and Ryland himself is too lazy to cook at this hour. It certainly won’t repay everything Ryland has done for him, but it’s a nice start.

After getting the clean dishes on the drying rack, Alex scrounges up a box of pancake mix. There’s a half dozen eggs in the fridge, so he gets those out, too. Grinning to himself, even though the woozy effect of the booze has worn off, Alex whistles happily to himself while he heats up a skillet.

———————

When Ryland snorts awake, his immediate thought is that the building is on fire. There’s an unmistakable smell of smoke on the air, and not the kind he’s used to. This isn’t the odor of pot, it’s definitely something burning.

Uttering a long string of swear words, some more creative than others, Ryland gets out of bed and doesn’t even bother putting on pants before walking out of his room. Once in the hallway, he’s confronted with a thin haze that confirms the long-unanswered question about whether or not the smoke alarms even work. Totally unsurprised, he finds Alex in the kitchenette, looking at his phone with a deep frown while something on the counter is spewing smoke like a failed science experiment in a bad sci-fi movie.

Alex doesn’t even notice Ryland walk in, so he wastes no time announcing himself. “Dude, what the fuck is going on?”

Alex looks up, mildly startled, before grinning and gesturing to the horrific mess that was once the stove. “I’m makin’ breakfast.”

Ryland approaches with great trepidation. “You are?”

“Well, I tried, anyway. I think I burned the pancakes a little.”

Ryland lets out a little, humorless laugh. “Yeah, you think? Jesus, man. Go open a window.”

While Alex cracks a window and gets a box fan set up to blow the smoke out, Ryland appraises the damage. What was once pancake batter is now a black mass on the skillet, and there’s a pile of burnt eggs on a plate. There’s more egg stuck to the frying pan than on the plate, the pan still on high heat. Ryland sighs, wondering how Alex ever survived on his own.

Alex comes back, getting a beer out of the fridge. Ryland frowns at him. “A little early, isn’t it?”

Alex shrugs. “It’s just the one. Cooking is hard! I wanted to make a nice breakfast for you, but…” He trails off, blushing a bit, before popping the cap off the beer and taking a long swig.

Ryland knows how Alex avoids acknowledging his failures, and even if this is a relatively small failure, it’s a failure nonetheless. “Well, how about we cook together?”

Alex looks uneasy, biting his lip. “If you’d like. I didn’t mean to fuck it all up, I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“It’s fine,” Ryland says easily. “I think I’d enjoy cooking with you more than just waking up to mystery breakfast, anyway.”

“…Really?” Alex says, almost childishly.

“Sure, buddy.” He takes quick stock of the situation, noting that they are now out of eggs. But that’s fine, he can make do. “Here, you start mixing up some more pancake mix, and I’ll clean this up.”

Ryland watches surreptitiously as Alex cleans up the kitchen, but it turns out he has nothing to worry about. Alex takes the task happily, especially now that he’s had half a beer. The two of them work quietly, bumping into each other in the small kitchenette, but Ryland doesn’t mind. If there was anyone he would willingly allow into his bubble of personal space, it’s Alex. 

Neither of them are sure where they stand, relationship-wise. Somewhere between best friends and… something deeper. Alex has snuck into Ryland’s bed more than once, and Ryland has looked to Alex for support and a quick mood-boost more than he ought to. Part of him aches for more, most of him is terrified of more. The snide remarks of his peers when that video was posted all those years ago burn in his mind; how much worse would it be if they found out he was dating a guy? What would the rest of the team think? Kamal, oh god, that little shit would go to town if he ever found out.

It’s not often that Ryland does anything to counteract his depressive episodes, but with Alex around and no one else, it’s almost second nature. While Alex is whisking the pancake mix, Ryland comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him. True to Alex’s nature, he doesn’t even flinch. He just shifts on his feet a little, changing his stance to accommodate Ryland’s warm weight against his back. “You okay, Ry?”

“Yeah,” Ryland says against Alex’s shoulder blade. “Just. I appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. Even though you almost burned the whole building down.”

Alex gives a little chuckle, shaking Ryland a tiny bit with the motion. “It wasn’t that bad. Was it?”

Ryland rolls his eyes, pulling himself away from Alex to grab the plate of black mess he scraped off the skillet. He holds this up for Alex to see, who regards it calmly.

“Alright,” Alex concedes with a little laugh. “I won’t try to cook anymore.”

Though his easy smile and the joking lilt in his voice would lead anyone to think he was just kidding, Ryland knows him better. “You just need to learn. I’ll teach you sometime.”

“You will?” Alex says, true happiness in his voice, blowing away the facade.

“Sure.” Ryland makes to reach for the bottle of dish soap to finish cleaning off the frying pan, but Alex grabs his hand eagerly and brings it to his lips, kissing it loudly.

“You’re too good for me, Ry,” he says. He goes back to his job with a great deal of vigor, the half finished bottle of beer sitting forgotten on the counter.

Later, after finishing breakfast, Alex climbs into bed, overcome by sleep. Ryland drapes a blanket over him, smiling warmly as he does. Who knows if anything will ever come of his feelings for Alex; maybe they’ll only ever be friends. For now, that’s fine. As long as Alex is still here, Ryland is happy.

As Ryland puts away the clean dishes, he throws the unfinished beer with a satisfied smirk. He watches the bottle fall into the trash and leans over. “See?” he says to the bottle of beer, resting dejected among burnt remnants of pancakes. “He likes me more than you.”


	2. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alex accidentally outs himself and Ryland to the group.

Practice has been going really well lately. Everyone is improving so much, the team is doing so much better. They certainly aren't up to industry standards, not yet anyway, but every day they get a little bit better.

Ryland leans back in his chair, stretching as the victory animation plays on his screen. “Nice job, guys.”

Alex is standing off to the side, with his clipboard and his whistle, beaming with pride. “See? All this practice is paying off! You guys are really improving.”

Sam is the first to stand up, looking unamused. “I don't see why I need to be here every day, considering I'm one of the best on the team.” She flicks her eyes over to Lorenzo, who is doing various wrist stretches.

Alex motions for Sam to hush; if she isn't careful, she'll blow it. Not only does Lorenzo pay for everything, but at this point he is a part of the team. Sam rolls her eyes and goes to the kitchen, unofficially making it break time.

While the rest of the team raids the kitchen for snacks, and Ash goes outside for a smoke, Alex comes up behind a still seated Ryland and starts rubbing his shoulders. Ryland wishes he could enjoy it more, but with everyone still here, all it does is make him feel nervous. He rolls his shoulders around, hoping to shake Alex off without hurting his feelings.

“I'm really proud of you,” Alex says quietly. 

Ryland has to exercise a lot of self-control to not shrug Alex off. He cares about Alex a lot, more than he would care to admit openly, and the shoulder rub does feel nice. But he can hear Kamal and Sam ribbing each other in the kitchen, and while he isn't quite as worried about Sam, he has real reservations about Kamal finding out. 

Alex leans down, putting his clipboard on the table in front of Ryland. He looks at the scribbles on the clipboard, covered in doodles that have absolutely nothing to do with Killcore. “You know, if you’re not gonna use the clipboard responsibly, I might have to revoke your clipboard privileges.”

Alex giggles. “You can't take away my clipboard, I'm the coach! I need it.”

“Yeah,” Ryland says as he admires the scribble-drawings of the team, as well as various puppies. “You are clearly very engaged in what we're doing.”

“I am! I just have a very unorthodox method of note-taking.”

Ryland manages to shake off Alex, standing up and stretching out his back. “I'm gonna get something to eat.”

Alex takes his clipboard back, only looking a little put out. “Grab me a beer, will ya?”

Ryland feels some trepidation about Alex drinking during practice, but he's never been the type to tell his roommate what to do. Alex has enough self respect to not get entirely fucked up while the whole team is here, at least, and even though he apparently spends matches drawing puppies on his clipboard, he is a good coach. His never-ending well of positivity is the glue that holds them all together, especially when things get tough. 

Ryland comes back with a bag of pretzels and a beer for Alex, passing it to him. “Here you go, coach.”

“Thanks,” Alex says brightly. He then leans over and kisses Ryland on the cheek.

Ryland freezes as Alex’s lips press onto his skin. He can see Sam watching this happen from the couch, and he can feel Kamal’s eyes burning into the back of his head like two lasers. True to form, Alex doesn't even notice that anything is amiss and pops the cap off his beer with his keys. 

“Oh my god,” Sam says, her eyes wide. “I knew it. I knew it! Ash owes me twenty bucks.”

Alex frowns curiously as he easily knocks back a third of the beer. Ryland, though, feels like his heart is beating so fast, it'll soon jump right out of his chest. 

Sam gets her phone out while Kamal walks into Ryland’s line of vision. “Dude, it's true then? You and Alex are. Like. Y’know?” He makes a motion with his hands, moving a finger through a circle formed with the finger and thumb of the other hand. 

Ryland feels his whole face turning red. “N-no.”

“Do that again,” Sam demands eagerly, waving frantically at Alex, beckoning him over to Ryland. “I gotta get it on video or Ash will never believe it.”

When Alex just stands there, adorably confused, Sam stomps over and starts shoving him over to Ryland. “C’mon man, kiss your boyfriend! I'm getting paid today, god dammit.”

“I'm not Ryland’s boyfriend,” Alex mumbles, realizing what's going on and avoiding Ryland’s gaze.

Kamal has to duck away as he shrieks with laughter. “You gotta be kidding me! I thought you guys were just too fucked up for girlfriends.”

Sam shoves Alex into Ryland, who catches him on instinct. “Perfect, now kiss!” Sam says, recording everything with her phone. 

Ryland can feel that old sensation of deep shame that hasn't bothered him in so long. It brings back memories of being laughed out of DOTA, and the crowd at Anaheim Cares pointing and laughing. Even as he has Alex in his arms, one of his favorite physical sensations outside of jacking off, he has a sickly, cold sensation rising up his spine. 

Ash walks in just then, taking in the scene. Ryland is holding Alex, his grip maybe a bit too tight, while Alex looks horrified and nervous. Sam is recording this with her phone while Kamal is down for the count with laughter, and Lorenzo is completely lost to the situation, still on his computer with his headphones on. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Before anyone else can say anything, Sam blurts out, “Alex and Ryland kissed! You owe me twenty dollars!”

Ash turns to Ryland and Alex, who both look embarrassed and nervous. She has to do something about this. 

Ash stomps over to her bag, sitting by her computer, and gets a twenty out of her billfold. She brings this to Sam, slapping it against her shoulder with a glare. “Here. Twenty dollars. I really hope it was worth it.”

Sam catches the twenty as Ash walks away. She stares down at the note, looking properly ashamed of herself. 

Ryland lets go of Alex, who quickly puts a good foot and a half between the two of them. Ash starts gathering up her things and says, “I think we'd better cut it short today.”

“Good idea,” Ryland says.

It only takes a few minutes for Sam and Kamal to leave; Sam utters an apology as she goes, while Kamal leaves without another word. Ash gets a very confused Lorenzo out the door, and once it's just her and Ryland and Alex, she stops on her way out. “You guys gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” Ryland grinds out. “Please just leave.”

Ash softens a bit. “You don't have anything to be ashamed of.” She turns and nods to Alex, who is at this point on the other end of the room, fidgeting nervously. “I'll leave you guys alone, but we’ll still have practice tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” Alex says nervously.

Ash leaves then, and once the front door is closed, Ryland collapses onto his chair again, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. “Holy shit,” he says. 

Alex waits for any sign that he should stay or go. “I'm sorry, Ry,” he says meekly. “I forgot.”

Ryland regards him for a moment, then gestures him over. Alex approaches, apprehensive, and stops at Ryland’s chair. Ryland takes his hand, tentatively, and pulls Alex into his lap. 

Alex latches onto him immediately, wrapping his arms around Ryland’s shoulders. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ryland says. “They were gonna find out eventually.”

Alex hums. “I guess so.”

“It could've been worse,” Ryland muses. “I guess they already kind of knew, though, if Sam and Ash had a bet going.”

“Yeah, that really bothers me,” Alex says, frowning.

Ryland gets a better grip on Alex, unable to deny that him scrunching up his nose like that is very cute. “Why does it bother you?”

“Well, I feel like our relationship, whatever it might be, is worth WAY more than twenty dollars.”

Ryland laughs at this, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. While it's true that the two of them have yet to figure out exactly where they stand relationship wise, it's moments like these that make him really love Alex. While Alex grumbles to himself that the kiss should’ve been worth at least a fifty, Ryland vows internally that he won't let his fears hold him back. If the rest of the team wants to give them shit, fine. At the end of the day, he still has Alex. And that's all that really matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this while waiting to go in for a job interview and I'm very nervous


	3. Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex wants a puppy. Ryland tells him they can't afford one, but surprises him with something else.

“Hey, Ryland, can we get a puppy?”

Ryland casually marks his spot in his book, looking up at a very stoned Alex. He’s propped up against the arm of the couch, looking very cozy and adorable. So much so that Ryland can almost forgive the question. Almost. “We can barely feed ourselves, let alone a dog.”

Alex pouts, scrunching his nose up in distaste to this dose of reality. “I would give the puppy my food.”

Ryland, deciding that this is just one of Alex’s many pot-induced ideas that he'll quickly forget about after sleeping off the buzz, regards him with a dry glare. “Alex, you subsist entirely on a diet of dollar store ramen and beer nuts.”

Alex sniffs, turning back to his bong. “I would share my ramen with an adorable puppy,” he grumbles as he lights up.

Ryland goes back to his book, frowning as Alex takes a long hit. While he would love to bring home a puppy just to make Alex happy, the truth is they cannot afford it. His unemployment check barely covers the electric bill, what with all the computers for their Killcore team constantly plugged in.

He glances up as Alex sets the bong on the coffee table and settles in for a weed nap, looking dejected, moving so his back is turned to Ryland. Maybe he could figure something out.

\----------------------

Alex comes home early, disappointed in tonight's bar experience. The regular bartender wasn’t there, and the guy filling in for the night was pretty stingy on the scotch. Which is saying something, since all Alex wanted was a scotch on the rocks.

As he walks in, resigned to a night of sadly drinking cheap beer at home, he spots Ryland over by the window, looking intently at the old aquarium that's been collecting dust since before Alex even moved in. “Hey, man.”

Ryland glances over his shoulder at Alex. “Oh, hey. C’mere, I got you something.”

“Really?” Alex says, surprised. He makes his way over, wondering what Ryland could have for him. It's not like Ryland to get him things; it’s not that Ryland isn't a sentimental gift-giver, he just either never has the money for such things or he doesn't make a big deal out of it. The last thing he got for Alex was the bong, in fact, and Alex had just walked in to find it on the coffee table, like it had always been there.

Ryland moves aside, putting his hand on Alex’s back to aim him towards the aquarium. Alex approaches, with Ryland’s hand putting light pressure between his shoulder blades in a rare instance of sustained physical contact. He stares in absolute wonder at the aquarium, now full of water, colorful rocks, a few rock-tunnels, and a beautiful betta fish.

It's a deep, cobalt blue, darting along the surface. Alex loves it immediately. “Oh my god,” he says reverently. “You got me a fish?”

“Yeah,” Ryland says bashfully, flexing his fingers over Alex’s spine. “I felt bad that you couldn't have a puppy.”

“Oh, Ryland!” Alex cries, turning to envelope him in a tight hug. “I love him!”

“I'm glad,” Ryland says, returning the hug.

Alex turns eagerly back to the aquarium, watching the fish with a vigor that Ryland hasn't seen in him outside of Killcore practice. “Does he have a name? Has he eaten yet? We should give him some food. I'm so fuckin happy, he's so pretty! Can I name him?”

He's like a little kid, giddy and eyes trying to follow the fish as it darts around the big tank. “You can name him. Here, give him some flakes.” Ryland puts the container of fish food in Alex’s hand, watching as he sprinkles the flakes into the tank, the current from the filter pushing the food down into the tank.

The fish darts for the food. “I'll call him Purple Haze,” he decides.

Ryland almost wants to point out that the fish is blue, not purple, but he doesn’t want to ruin this for Alex. “I think that's a perfect name.”

Alex turns back to the aquarium, watching happily while Purple Haze eats his dinner. While he's definitely not a puppy, Alex enthusiastically cheers him on, urging Purple Haze toward a particularly large flake that landed just behind him.

Making Alex happy makes Ryland happy. It puts a little flutter in his belly and makes his skin feel warm. He pulls two chairs over from the mess of computers and the two of them sit and watch the fish explore his new home. And when Ryland puts his arm around Alex’s shoulders to bring him closer, and Alex tucks himself into Ryland’s side, positively vibrating with happiness, Ryland feels that this was more than worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want them to have a pet to bond over so bad.


	4. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex falls into a depressive state, recalling his past failures. Ryland tries to make him feel better by singing the #1 Cliche Song in Fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with depression and substance abuse.

It's a late night. It’s unseasonably chilly outside, so Alex has decided to stay in. He has some Pabst, even though it tastes horrifically bad going down and like actual death coming back up. Since there's little to no food at Ryland’s place, all he has is the beer. The bar isn't too far, but he's so used to sunny California weather, when it dips into the 40s like this, he just doesn't want to deal with it. 

Instead, he's sitting alone in Ryland’s apartment. He refuses to call it his home, because it isn't. This is temporary. He will get his shit together, he will somehow find some kind of job that he can hold down, and then he'll get out of Ryland’s hair. He already feels like shit for staying here for so long, but of course Ryland is too sweet to tell him to get out. He's too generous to insist that Alex get a job, or contribute in any way, really. 

“You'll get back on your feet eventually,” Ryland would say. “Until then, you can stay with me. The couch isn't the best, but it's better than sleeping on the street.”

Alex runs his fingers lazily over the strings of his beat up old guitar, listening to the discordant noise with a deep, aching nostalgia. He feels like shit, even though he's on his fourth can of Pabst. Usually the buzz will obliterate any feeling, leaving him blissfully ignorant to his endless shortcomings and failures. But it's not working this time. He just feels even worse than before he started drinking.

This guitar is the only thing of any value in his possession, and it’s not even a very good guitar. It's acoustic, and he bought it on an impulse after his band broke up. He had hoped, at the time, that he could move his passion from 80s synth rock to a solo acoustic thing, but all he could manage was playing for change on the street. More and more of his life fell victim to the endless pit in his soul that absorbs all happiness, like a black hole sucking up light. He started dumping booze into it, hoping to avoid the inevitable event horizon as he clung desperately to the last strands of his fraying life.

He tries to play a few chords. His fingers are stiff. He can't find the right frets. The strings are out of tune, and he can't be bothered to try and fix them. He used to know so many songs, he knew which ones would net him enough to get a drink at the bar. He feels a sharp tingling sensation behind his eyes as he remembers his band, how they'd play for a small but enthusiastic crowd and he'd feel something that could never be replaced by alcohol or drugs. It's a kind of high that he's been chasing ever since, but always falling short, the dream gaining distance away from him with every night he spends on a bar stool.

He sniffs, brushing away tears with his sore fingers. He's been sitting here for awhile, since the sun was up. It's fully dark out now, the buzzing of the halogen street light making his teeth itch. He could've been so much more than this. He could've been great. But he's a bum, he's mooching off his friend while he drowns his sorrow in alcohol. At first, he had thought that he could get through the failure. But as the days stretched on, and he lost track of what month it was, and he witnessed yet another New Year’s Eve party from the bottom of a bottle of cheap whiskey, it's starting to look more and more like it’s just not meant to be. It's not going to happen. There's just no way, not at his age, not after he's fallen so far to the wayside.

The guitar falls from his lap as he lets out a shuddering gasp, pulling his legs up to his chest, hoping to hide from the horror of what he's become. The tears pour out of him freely, as he tries to choke back the loud sobs. The corner he's been sitting in is closing in on him, like a venus fly trap about to snap closed around him. He almost wishes it would. 

He grabs the can of Pabst, hoping to get another swig out of it, hoping the burn of alcohol in his throat will help him find his way out of here, but the can is empty. He knows there's nothing else in the fridge, because he ran out of money earlier in the week and couldn't bear to ask Ryland to fuel his habit.

He throws the empty can across the apartment, suddenly overtaken with anger. He staggers to his feet, knowing he's drunk but not feeling like he's drunk because he doesn't feel that silly, stupid numbness. All he feels is disappointment, shame, and gutrot from the shitty beer. He bends down and takes the guitar in his hands, holding it by the neck like an ax, seeing nothing but red through his tears.

He smashes the cheap guitar against the floor, feeling intense satisfaction as the strings snap and the body splinters. “I never even had a chance!” he says, lifting the damaged instrument over his head again. He brings it down, loving the way the sound makes his skin crawl. “I thought- they made me think I could do it, they told me I had talent! They told me I had passion! They told me… They told me I was WORTH SOMETHING!”

He swings the guitar into the wall, and what's left of it blows apart on impact.

Alex collapses onto the floor, his grief finally cascading out of him. He cries loudly, howling like a wounded animal. 

It's not fair, he thinks. He could've been worth something. But he's here, and he's worthless.

\--------------------

Ryland comes home unusually late, tossing his jacket carelessly, putting several bags of groceries on the table. He flicks on the lights, hoping not to wake Alex, who, if he's home, will likely be out cold. 

However, upon turning on the lights, Ryland finds something he never would've expected. The living room is a mess, more than usual, with beer cans laying haphazardly on the floor, books scattered about, and, most worrying, a ring of wooden splinters around Alex. He's on the floor, in the corner of the room, scrunched up into a ball.

Ryland rushes over, stumbling over the many obstacles to get to his friend. He stops just short, as Alex, clearly awake, tries to shrink into an even smaller position, hiding his face in his arms. Ryland drops to his knees, reaching out very gingerly, grabbing Alex by the shoulders as carefully as he can. “Alex? What's wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Alex says. A little too fast, a little too desperate. Ryland can hear the fear in his voice, and the pain.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, why don't we get you up off the floor?” Ryland suggests, trying to keep his voice even. 

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, his voice caught up behind tears. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry… I didn't mean- I didn't want to put all of this on you, I'm sorry…”

Ryland knows he's been drinking. It's pretty normal at this point. But very rarely does Alex’s drunken psyche drag him down to this point. It makes his heart ache, it makes his already jaded soul feel like it weighs a thousand tons. He gently puts his arms around Alex, trying not to be too affected from feeling Alex convulse with sobs as he lifts him into a sitting position. “C’mon, you'll be a lot more comfy in bed, don't you think?”

Alex grabs on to Ryland, holding onto him like he's lost at sea and Ryland is the piece of driftwood that will save him from drowning. “I'm sorry- m’sorry I'm like this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ryland says, easily pulling Alex into his lap, wrapping him up in his arms to try and stop his shivers. “You don't have to be sorry, man.”

The two of them sit there for a long time while Alex cries into Ryland’s shoulder, muttering about regrets and failure and loss. Ryland doesn't know what to say, so he just rubs Alex’s back, trying to bring some warmth to his chilled skin, whispering platitudes, trying desperately to think of a way to help him. 

Eventually, Alex runs out of tears, and is just an exhausted heap in Ryland’s arms. Ryland gets up, bringing Alex up with him. He takes him into his bedroom, getting him under the covers. As he climbs in after him, letting Alex shuffle back into his embrace, he decides to try something. 

Ryland knows he doesn't have much of a singing voice, but he also knows that Alex loves music. Even though his career in music crashing and burning is the fuel of this breakdown, Alex is intrinsically linked to music. It's in his soul. As he runs his hand through Alex’s hair, pulling him as close as possible, he sings, completely out of tune. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey.”

Alex sniffles, a tentative smile growing as he fights sleep to sing along. “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.”

“Please don't take my sunshine away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I identify A LOT with Alex here. I can't count the number of paintings I've demolished in a fit of depressed rage.


End file.
